Private Musings
by k4writer02
Summary: Chakotay’s Point of View on “The Muse” with unrequited CTish feelings implied.


Title: Private Musings

Author: Kate, 

Disclaimer: I disclaim. I am not affiliated with Paramount and I am not profiting from this story.

Summary Blurb: Chakotay's Point of View on "The Muse" with unrequited C/T-ish feelings implied.

Author's Note: Thank you to Briana, who betaed

First Officer's Personal Log.

Stardate…I can't remember. I've stopped measuring time in stardates. I'm measuring it since the last time I heard her…Computer, stop . Erase.

First Officer's Personal Log.

Eight days ago, I received the Delta Flyer's transmission. I heard her voice. I think I was the last one who spoke to her. I can tell that Tom envies me. He envies me that speech, that routine exchange of sensor data and that little extra talk that we always allot ourselves. It's never much, and it seems perfectly innocuous to any who happen to overhear—after all, we rarely send a single crewman on an away mission, and the Delta Flyer only allows for so much privacy. So our little bit of extra talk is always very innocent—but it's there and it connects us in some way that's hard to define.

I envy Tom's blatant worry. I feel what he feels, but I don't show it the way he does. I'm Chakotay, the friend. Not the lover or the companion. I'm the first officer. I was her captain. It's my fault she's out here, in this quadrant, in a position where she went out in search of—it's useless to think this way. It's been six years and she's survived worse than this.

Could I have faced it without her? Any of it? In an odd way, she's the reason I survived the first few days of being ripped from everything I'd ever know. She was missing, so I had a goal. Find her. I had a reason to stay sane. That's how I got through that immediate separation anxiety that crippled so many of our people. I focused on B'Elanna and finding her, and that let me ignore the fact that I was seventy years from the bones of my ancestors, seventy years from the place where I was born and the space where I expected to die.

When the crews merged, I had to deal with hostility from the Starfleeters who saw me as a Maquis turncoat and the hostility from my own people, who thought I was abandoning them by forging an alliance with the Federation. B'Elanna never looked at me like a traitor, though. Never thought of me as the tame Maquis. The others did. Seska called me the Captain's pet. Irony was lost on her, I think.

Even Kathryn didn't realize that every action we did at the beginning laid the foundation for everything that grew from it. We're essentially a closed society. But seeing that, seeing all the tension and smoothing it out, that is my gift. B'Elanna was always ready to listen to me when I was frustrated. She didn't always make my job easier, but she proved that a rogue Maquis could become a competent Starfleet officer. She was one of two women on the senior staff at first, and she held her own.

I learned so much from B'Elanna. I didn't mean to talk about her in the past tense. It just slipped because she's changed and she hasn't been creating tension lately. Well, not the same kind of tension. B'Elanna's like that antimatter she loves so much. Her fire and anger and courage and vulnerability all packaged together with that smart mouth. She creates as many problems as solutions. Storms and friction follow everywhere she goes, but she uses it to get things done. I learned so much from her. I am still learning, I will continue to learn. I have to believe she's coming back.

Two weeks after I recruited her to the Maquis, I realized I could no longer imagine my ship without her. She'd just broken the wrist of a more adventurous Maquis who'd been flirting and coming on a little too strong for her taste. The man had been in the Maquis since the first of the Starfleet defectors defected. He'd been around longer than I had, but I'd been promoted because I was less touchy and could live on both sides of an order—the giving and the taking. The man was all heart. He was absolutely loyal, I never doubted that, but he was foolhardy. If he didn't understand you and your reason for joining the cause, he figured you were a Starfleet infiltrator and was as likely to shoot you as to live with you. That day, when I had to pick between an experienced veteran and a brash twenty-something with a chip on her shoulder the size of the Badlands, I chose B'Elanna.

I chose the temper and the potential, the arrogance and confidence in her abilities and the lack of self-confidence in everything else… I chose her. I never regretted it. I disciplined the man—kitchen duty for a week. In retrospect, not the smartest thing to do. He could've retaliated by doing disgusting things to our food. Pause. Chuckle. Chances are, no one would've noticed. I think subconsciously, it was my way of showing him I trusted him with our lives, even though he had screwed up. I think B'Elanna was aware of everything he could've done in retaliation. She ate prepackaged ration bars for a week and never complained.

I miss her. I miss that temper, which by turns causes her to be sullen and vociferous and stoic. I miss the sense of humor she treats so few to. I miss her laughter. I miss the way she wrinkles her nose when I make a corny joke, and I miss her smile. I miss her expertise in engineering. I never feel quite as safe on a ship when she's not negotiating with the machines.

I miss Harry too, of course. He's a good man, who has given up a lot for this ship. He's saved us more times than I can count. He's returned from the future, the dead and alternate timelines to help us. He puts this ship and her crew ahead of his own dream-come-true. He's a fine officer, and losing him would be a blow to the ship and the crew. But it's B'Elanna who fills my mind tonight.

It's only been eight days, but I miss her. Tuvok hasn't slept; he's been working on the data. Tom moans as though he has the most to lose on that shuttle. Lover and best friend. Computer, erase that sentence. Resume recording.

Eight days ago, on Stardate 53918, I spoke to her. She was sending a garbled signal, but I understood that the Flyer had been hit by spatial eddies. I said

"Acknowledged. Has your warp core been damaged?"

and she replied

"Yes. We're running on thrusters. Can you track our position?"

Then, the signal cut off. What if those impersonal words are the last I ever speak to her? What happened after that transmission? What if her last memory is that unanswered question?

Pause

Computer, erase that log. Resume recording.

First Officer's Personal Log

Eight days ago we lost contact with the Delta Flyer. B'Elanna and Harry were aboard. I miss them both. For now, it's a waiting game, while Tuvok and Seven and anyone else with a background in astrometrics takes a crack at the data and tries to figure out where they are. I don't have much to add, except my memories and a blessing. May the Sky Spirits guide them home to us, and quickly.

Computer, End Recording.

First Officer's Log.

On Stardate 53896, Lt. Torres and Ensign Kim left Voyager aboard the Delta Flyer. They were searching for dilithium to replenish our eternally dwindling supply. On Stardate 53918, Voyager lost contact with the away team. They were caught up by spatial eddies. We are attempting to chart their probable location. Mr. Tuvok has not slept since I received their final transmission. Mr. Paris is showing signs of acute strain and distress. The captain is relying on coffee and stimulants from the doctor to remain alert. I am worried about the away team's safety, but I also fear for the health of those of us on Voyager if the away team is not located in the near future.

Ensign Kim is a fine officer, as well as a friend. The ship suffers in his absence.

I feel the loss of Lieutenant Torres keenly, because I have been her commanding officer for more than eight years. I feel responsible for her presence in the Delta Quadrant, her position as chief engineer, and her presence on the away mission. She is a dear friend. I can no longer imagine serving on a ship without her.

Computer, End Recording.

First Officer's Personal Log

It has been ten days since Voyager lost contact with the Delta Flyer. I am once again playing the role of the level-headed first officer. I dissuaded Tom from taking a shuttle and performing a planet-to-planet search. In Seven's words, that would be "inefficient." I must have learned from B'Elanna to hate it when "the Borg Queen" is right, because I feel intensely annoyed that I can't go out to try the planet-to-planet search myself.

I'm enabling Kathryn's caffeine addiction. I don't think she realizes how many replicator rations her coffee burns through. I've been funneling my extra rations into her account so she won't have to ask the doctor for another stimulant. I've been arranging for ensigns and crewmen to unobtrusively bring food to Tuvok and Seven. I'm talking to Ayala and Dalby and Gerron and all her other friends from the Maquis, so they won't do something stupid. I've intercepted two rescue plans from Harry's Gamma shift buddies and discouraged them. I convinced Neelix not to contact an alien species with an offer to trade tech for info leading to the location of our friends. Just a normal couple of days for the first officer of the intrepid starship Voyager.

I did contact a transport vessel that intercepted their distress call. They sent us the file. I have listened to it so many times I have memorized it, but it still mesmerizes me. It's this spotty recording B'Elanna sounds annoyed and frustrated and frightened but not really angry as far as I can tell. She's using all these technical terms to explain what went wrong in the Delta Flyer, and then she says she forced Harry to use the escape pod. She's aiming to crash land on an L-class planet and that's all we really know. So it's a waiting game again.

Maybe I should listen to the recording again. Maybe this time the static will magically cohere. Maybe this time I'll pick up on some previously unheard clue. Maybe this time I'll be able to hear the content without being distracted by the emotion in her voice. End personal log.

First Officer's Log

It has been two days since my last entry. The search for Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim continues. The mood on the ship remains grim. There have been few developments. An alien ship sent us the Delta Flyer's distress call. It's garbled, but the news is troublesome. Harry ejected ten days ago. There's no way an escape pod could keep him alive that long, and no one has contacted us about finding him. We haven't given up, but with every day that passes the chances of recovering our people safely and in one piece decrease.

Computer, End Recording.

First Officer's Personal Log

They're back, thank the Sky Spirits. B'Elanna spent the last eleven days playing the muse to some poet who immortalized the crew of Voyager as a clan of "Eternals." He used a play about characters with our names to try to stop a war. I think that Kathryn is so relieved to have them back that she's not going to bust them for bending the Prime Directive. After all, B'Elanna didn't claim to be a goddess or an alien. She let him make his assumptions and didn't try to correct them. I'm happy to see them both, but B'Elanna's been looking at me differently since she got back. There's this little gleam in her eyes and this smirk on her face and I know it has something to do with this play, but she won't tell me what. I'm so glad that she's back that I only find it mildly annoying. So life returns to normal on shining Voyager, far from home.

Computer, End Recording.

First Officer's Log

We have recovered Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim. Other than superficial wounds and dehydration, they are unharmed. The crew is delighted to be reunited. We have resumed course for the Alpha Quadrant, and life once again passes for normal on Voyager.

Computer, End Recording.


End file.
